


Eye on You

by Llama1412



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: 5+1 Things, Accidental Voyeurism, F/M, Face-Sitting, Humiliation, M/M, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Non-Human Genitalia, Porn With Plot, Sex Work, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:35:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25831429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llama1412/pseuds/Llama1412
Summary: 5 Times Iorveth Accidentally Watched Roche Come and 1 Time Roche Watched Him
Relationships: Iorveth/Vernon Roche
Comments: 28
Kudos: 95





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by the wonderful [lutes_and_dandelion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lutes_and_dandelions/).  
> This fic also includes an OC named Daffodil created by [deathclaw-for-cutie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deathclaw_for_Cutie/pseuds/Deathclaw_for_Cutie).
> 
> Elder Speech:  
> \- Dh’oine = human  
> \- Aen Seidhe = formal name for elves

Iorveth had many contacts in whorehouses around his territory. Innkeepers and whores were always the best informants – they had a way of hearing and noticing everything, and people _talked_ to them in a way they didn’t with others. In most cases, he had runners and spies that delivered messages from his informants – a low risk system that worked for all of them. But for a certain dh’oine informant, Iorveth preferred to collect his intel in person.

Daffodil was different. He didn’t _have_ to go see her, of course. But she was special. Unlike most dh’oine, she actually cared about elves and nonhumans. Not just enough to inform on people to Iorveth, but enough that she had saved his life once.

He’d been evading the Blue Stripes after a particularly brutal chase and a gash to his side had mixed him up enough that he’d gotten turned around. Instead of running deeper into his forest, he’d ended up in the outskirts of the town just outside the western edge of the woods, and his cover had abruptly come to an end.

In all honestly, a part of Iorveth had expected that to be his last mistake. Finding shelter inside a human town had seemed unlikely at best and even more painful than getting caught by the Blue Stripes at worst. So when he’d ducked into a shadowed alleyway and slumped against the wood of a neighboring building, panting for breath and nearly out of arrows anyway, he’d really thought his last moments would be in a shit-infested human town in an alleyway that smelled strongly of urine.

Then Daffodil had found him. The light of her pipe had surprised him, a quick flare that revealed a heavily painted face cocking an eyebrow at him. “You’re leaving blood on my walls,” she had pointed out.

When he’d blinked stupidly at her, she’d inhaled deeply and blown the smoke in his face. Coughing had sent sharp pain through his side and Daffodil tutted. 

“Well, you’re not bleeding out here. It would be bad for business, and besides, you’re too cute to die,” she’d winked at him and stepped to the side to open the back door to the building he was leaning against. “Come on, I’ve got some bandages and some herbs that will chase the pain right out of your mind.”

Iorveth had been weak enough that she’d tugged his arm over her shoulder and dragged him inside before he’d had a chance to object, or even to warn her of the dangers sheltering him would bring. 

Not only had she patched him up and let him rest in her home – which was also the town’s brothel, as it turned out – but she’d cleaned his blood from the walls and thrown off the Blue Stripes when they’d come searching for him. 

She’d been his favorite informant ever since. Which was why it was worth making the trek from his hideout deep in the forest to Miss Daffodil’s Bouquet in Ellander. Not just for her intel, but for the reminder that there was at least one dh’oine that proved the species wasn’t entirely awful.

Also, she was the only reason the Scoia’tael had any access to alcohol and other such luxuries. And she got the _good_ shit.

Which was why the evening found Iorveth wandering down the secret tunnel at the edge of the forest that led right to The Bouquet’s basement. Because Daffodil was Extra, the brothel also had secret passages that allowed her and her workers to spy on patrons, no matter what room they were in. When Iorveth stepped into the passage from the basement, he was hardly expecting to find anything in particular. He certainly wasn’t expecting to nearly run into Daffodil herself, pressed against the wall to the point her mascara was probably getting all over the peephole.

In the dim torchlight the passageway was lit with, Iorveth could see the way Daffodil pulled back and winked at him with eyes that were painted a bright blue. The stocky woman waved him closer until she could whisper in his ear.

“This one will interest you. It’s your mortal enemy.” She grinned and turned back to the peephole.

Iorveth blinked. And then, without really thinking about it, he bent down – the peepholes were eyelevel for Daff, which meant they were about chest level for him – and looked through the wall.

He wasn’t really sure what he’d been expecting, but it certainly wasn’t the sight of Vernon Roche, Commander of the Blue Stripes, entirely naked except for that stupid chaperon on his head, facing the peephole and leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. Roche was kneeling by the wall, riding the face of someone Iorveth couldn’t discern from this angle, and stroking his cock as his thighs flexed with each rock of his hips.

Iorveth watched a single drop of sweat make its way down Roche’s neck until it beaded on the tip of a pointed nipple. When he absently thought about the way it would taste salty on his tongue if he flicked it over that point, Iorveth pushed himself back from the wall with a quiet gasp.

Daffodil, with her absolute lack of shame, just smirked and kept watching. “Oh, that’s lovely,” she whispered and Iorveth hated the part of him that immediately wanted to go see what she was talking about. “Yarrow absolutely loves eating out the enthusiastic ones.”

Iorveth bit his lip. He couldn’t see Roche, but he could still _hear_ him in this corridor that was designed to hear everything from next door without letting them be overheard. And Daff was right – Roche _was_ enthusiastic, low encouraging noises falling from his lips interspersed with praise. It made something hot bubble in Iorveth’s gut, a feeling that was surely disgust that he was being exposed to this side of the Commander, that he was witnessing the basest of human desires.

Not that elves didn’t enjoy sex, but they weren’t so open and shameless about it! Iorveth had enjoyed many lovers over his very long life, but he’d never been so _loud_ about his pleasure. It was unseemly, undignified, and absolutely enchanting. 

Iorveth didn’t actually remember moving, but when Roche’s low sounds changed to high, desperate ones, he found his eye pressed against the peephole again. Roche was stroking himself rapidly with one hand as the other scratched red lines down his chest. That flash of pain seemed to delight Roche, because he moaned loudly.

“Fuck, yes, like that!”

The words felt like they were growled into Iorveth’s ears and they circled around his mind until he could focus on little else. The muscles on Roche’s neck stood out with his head flung back like it was and Iorveth had the passing thought that it would look nice decorate with marks from his teeth.

Roche inhaled loudly and then everything seemed to freeze for a moment. Iorveth found himself holding his own breath, waiting on edge for what came next.

And then they toppled over the peak and Roche was coming with a high whine, spattering white streaks across the wall and his hand. Iorveth orgasm caught him completely off-guard - at the sight of Roche’s pleasure, he found his head tilting back with a gasp, and his hips jerked as he came, completely untouched, inside his armor.

Iorveth became aware of his forehead resting against the wall, and at some point, he must have opened his eyes, because he could see Roche licking his own hand clean before slinging his leg over so that he was no longer straddling Yarrow’s face. Then he wrapped his spit slick hand around his partner’s cock, stroking until Yarrow came with a muted gasp.

It was an oddly considerate act from a man Iorveth had never associated the word with before, but he found himself unexpectedly pleased by it, by the idea that Roche was a dedicated partner, that he wanted _everyone_ involved to get off – though he certainly didn’t know about the third party that had.

Speaking of – face and ears flaming red, Iorveth turned hesitantly to face Daffodil, who was staring at him with a wide grin on her face.

“Don’t,” he tried to warn, the reality of the situation slowly settling like a brick in his gut. 

“Not here,” she acquiesced, but her smirk made it clear that she was absolutely not planning on forgetting about this.

She grabbed his wrist – apparently correctly reading that he was tempted to run before they could have this “conversation” – and dragged him through the passageways until they reached the top floor, where Daff’s room was. Then Daffodil pulled on a candlestick holder on the wall, and the hidden door swung open.

Stepping out from the dimly lit, somewhat dusty wooden corridor into Daffodil’s room always gave him a sense of whiplash, even after all this time. Even moreso than the rest of the brothel, this room was Daffodil distilled, all bright colors and tacky decorations and more than a few gaudy carvings of genitalia that he was fairly certain did not exist on any animal on the continent. It was quite a shock to the sensibilities for an elf used to more a more _refined_ decorating sense. Of course, Iorveth also lived in the forest as an outlaw now, so the only refinement in his life came from Daffodil herself, via her illicit trade in alcohol and supplies.

Daffodil took a seat on her floral bedspread and graciously offered him the single chair in the room – a wingback armchair that had likely seen more action than he had in his centuries of life. Iorveth sat delicately on the edge of it, shoulders hunched and eye pointedly looking at the ground and _not_ the widening grin on Daff’s face. His face still felt hot and there was something squirming in his stomach that had him feeling vaguely nauseated.

“Weren’t expecting that, huh?” Daff’s voice was surprisingly gentle. Possibly because she could tell just how badly his thoughts were starting to spiral. 

He’d gotten off to the sight of his enemy orgasming, something he never should have seen in the first place! It was such a huge violation of privacy, but more importantly, if he was going to see _anyone_ in flagrante delicto, Roche was the last possible person he would have expected. 

And to get off on it! What sort of sick elf was he, to find a dh’oine – to find _Roche_ – so appealing?

“I mean, he’s not bad to look at,” Daff pointed out and Iorveth wasn’t sure if he’d said something out loud or if she could just read him that easily right now. “A little rugged, perhaps, but I’d take him in a heartbeat.”

“He’s not yours to take!” Iorveth snapped and then slapped a hand over his mouth. That almost sounded like he thought Roche was _his,_ which certainly wasn’t the case. 

Roche was his enemy, yes. His rival, the challenger who forced him to bring his best. But Iorveth had no power over who the man slept with. Until this moment, he’d never considered that he’d even _want_ that. 

Daff tutted. “No need to get your knickers in a twist, sweet cheeks.”

He glared at her. It was only when she sighed and handed him her pipe that he realized that his hands were trembling finely.

“Okay, is this like a gay crisis thing? Because you’ve been alive for centuries, so I kind of figured that happened a long time ago.”

Iorveth lit the pipe and inhaled deeply several times before he felt prepared to answer. “I’ve always liked men. _Elven_ men.”

“Oooh, it’s a race thing. Should’ve guessed.” Daff took the pipe when he passed it back to her and took a long hit. “Is it that he’s human or that he’s _that_ human?”

“Both,” he grunted. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Too bad,” she blew the smoke out in his face and he frowned at her. “He comes ‘round fairly often. Chooses men and women to sleep with. Never chosen an elf, but then, that’s hardly surprising.”

Iorveth rubbed his face. “I thought you didn’t have any elves here right now?”

“New girl, just started this week. Camellia,” Daff said. She named all her workers after flowers, to keep with her own theme. Camellias were pretty – he could see why an elf would accept the name, even if he couldn’t understand how one could withstand the indignity of being desired by dh’oine. “Maybe you should talk to her. But _only_ if you won’t give her shit. You know what I’ll do if you try.”

Iorveth nodded solemnly, shoulders feeling looser as the herbs worked their magic. He’d only made that mistake once, confronting an elf who worked for Daffodil. Apparently, just because sex work wasn’t something he understood did not mean he had a right to stop others from pursuing it. Which he did sort of get – after all, he was fighting for freedom for his people. He just didn’t understand why someone would use their freedom to pleasure dh’oine. 

Yesterday, he would have considered such a fate worse than death. Today, he was faced with the uncomfortable realization that _he_ had wanted to bring pleasure to a dh’oine. Was the fact that it wasn’t just _any_ dh’oine better or worse?

“Fuck, next time I see him in a fight, how am I supposed to look at him?”

Daff tilted her head. “If he’s just a dirty human, why would you have any trouble?” She smirked at his glare, “if you’re worried about finding humans attractive – well, one, that’s stupid. We aren’t even that different as a species, so it’s really not that strange. Two, you can always find out here. I would be delighted to volunteer to expand your horizons, but if that’s too intimidating – I know, I’m a lot of gorgeous to take in – then watch another room. See if you react to that patron.”

Iorveth wrinkled his nose. “Why would I want to watch – _that?”_

“Because you’re curious whether it was about the man or the human. Personally, I think there’s nothing wrong with both, but everyone’s got their hang ups.” She set the pipe aside and stretched her arms above her head. “Well, as delightful as your tomato red face is, I suppose we’d better get to what you came here for. Unless, of course, you’d like something else?”

If Iorveth’s blush had receded at all, it rapidly returned. He shook his head wordlessly. 

“Then I shall be merciful,” Daff winked. “What did your people think of the new coffee beans I got you?”

Iorveth swallowed and covered his face with his hands, groaning. Then he took a deep breath and stood up. “They loved it. Some even mentioned that perhaps dh’oine aren’t _entirely_ terrible at food.”

“Perfect. You’ll love this new blend, then.” She bustled around her room, pulling out boxes from hidden spots that even Iorveth hadn’t noticed beforehand, and the corner of his lips twitched upwards. There was a reason he trusted Daffodil, a reason he came to her for many of the Scoia’tael’s supplies.

He knew he probably should follow her advice and untangle the mass inside his chest that thinking about Roche and earlier made him feel. But just because he knew he should didn’t mean he was _going_ to. 

He was Aen Seidhe, one of the last alive that remembered a world before humans. He could not sully himself with their taint. Today was just an odd fluke. He would push it deep down into his memories and never think about it again, and everything would be fine. Good, even.

Iorveth nodded to himself. There was absolutely no reason he should ever need to think of Roche and sex in close proximity ever again.


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iorveth can't stop thinking about what he'd seen.

Not thinking about Roche and specifically, the sex he’d seen Roche have, turned out to be rather difficult. Not because Iorveth wasn’t determined to wipe it from his mind, but because his subconscious appeared to have fixed onto the image and he was now being haunted with it nightly.

The problem was, after the sixth night of waking up to soiled underwear after a dream of Roche somehow simultaneously riding his face  _ and _ jerking off in front of him, Iorveth was starting to forget his disgust. He hadn’t had so many orgasms in – gods, probably decades? Since Cedric had abandoned the Scoia’tael – and  _ him _ – to go live amongst humans. 

It wasn’t entirely because he didn’t have offers. While many elves saw him as damaged goods – his scars were just so very  _ visible  _ and impossible to ignore – there were some whose loyalty to him overshadowed their horror. 

Cedric had been one. Iorveth had actually believed Cedric when he said that the scars didn’t matter to him. The problem was, everything else about who Iorveth was forced to become for the Scoia’tael  _ did _ matter to Cedric. 

Cedric had visions, and he’d seen what Iorveth would become. And he’d decided that wasn’t a life he was interested in sharing. Iorveth could hardly stop his lover from leaving when he was fighting for the freedom of  _ all _ elves, but there was a part of him that still cursed Cedric for running away. For leaving him.

For breaking him.

But if Iorveth was honest with himself – which he occasionally was – he knew Cedric wasn’t the reason he was broken. The scars weren’t the reason either, though they’d played a significant role in shattering him.

No, the problem was Iorveth. Iorveth, who was willing to become anything for the cause of a free elven state, who was willing to rob and murder and destroy until the dh’oine were terrified of him. Iorveth had become a monster because that was what the Scoia’tael had needed him to be.

Knowing that did not make him less monstrous, did not make him less unloveable. 

Ciaran had tried to convince him that wasn’t true. His second in command offered himself and his love to Iorveth freely – but how could Iorveth accept when seeing the real him would just drive away another elf he desperately needed in the Scoia’tael?

Besides, Iorveth wasn’t sure  _ he _ was capable of loving anymore. Surely someone who was wouldn’t do the things he did, wouldn’t become the monster he was. 

Maybe that was why his mind had fixated on Roche. Vernon Roche was his opposite – what Iorveth did for the Scoia’tael, Roche did for Temeria. Both of their hands were soaked in too much blood to ever wash off. If Iorveth was a monster, then Roche was one too. They were, in many ways, equals fighting out of the love of their peoples.

Of course, they also fought on entirely different sides. By definition, Roche’s job was to eliminate everything Iorveth worked for. They were irrefutable enemies and as long as Roche fought for Temeria and Iorveth fought for free elves, they always would be.

Why was that thought so disappointing?

Actually, perhaps it was best  _ not _ to think about that. Iorveth was already doing enough self-reflection of late, but there had to be  _ some _ limits. And contemplating why he felt something heavy in his stomach when acknowledging that Roche would always be his enemy was that limit. Besides, whatever he  _ didn’t  _ feel hardly mattered – they each had their parts to play, and Iorveth  _ enjoyed _ the role of the elven rebel to Roche’s patriotic soldier. It was – fun seemed like an inappropriate word, but it honestly was! 

What Roche lacked in a moral compass, he more than made up for in sword skills and biting wit. Every confrontation with him challenged Iorveth, forced him to bring his best lest he lose against his opponent.

Before Roche had taken over the Blue Stripes, Iorveth had never spent so many hours a day training with his swords, ensuring that his missing eye would not leave an opening to end his life. Now, he revelled in that time, slashing his blades through the air in what felt like a dance with the wind. 

Panting from exertion and sweaty after too long spent practicing, Iorveth brought his swords through the final form, then slid them into their sheaths. Adrenaline was still pumping through him and even though his body was exhausted, he felt restless and on edge, unable to settle.

That was the only reason he was walking to Daffodil’s brothel. He just needed to  _ do _ something, to  _ move.  _ It had nothing to do with the low level arousal that had been simmering inside him since he’d witnessed something that was never meant for him.

There was no part of Iorveth that hoped he might see it again. No part at all.

Iorveth didn’t have a delivery scheduled, so Daff wouldn’t be expecting him this time – or then again, maybe she would. She was rather astute for a dh’oine. 

But that meant that Iorveth had time to go unnoticed as he moved through the hidden corridor in the brothel. Daffodil  _ had _ recommended that he check if other dh’oine affected him the way Roche had, so Iorveth tried not to notice the squirming bubble of guilt as he bent down and pressed his eye against the first peephole.

The view of a grubby-looking man fucking steadily into one of Daffodil’s workers who looked more bored than anything else did absolutely nothing. Neither did the scene of Yarrow, the same whore from last time, thrusting into a lithe man whose face was buried in the bed and who otherwise showed little signs of enjoyment. But in the next room, there was a young brown haired man who eagerly buried his face in his partner’s folds, and from the way her back arched and her fingers clawed into the bedsheets, she  _ loved  _ it. Iorveth found himself watching for a long moment, his mouth dry and heat pooling in his belly. 

When the woman gasped and came with a loud cry, Iorveth could feel his own wetness gathering in his underwear. Just noticing it had him clenching, his cunt spasming around nothing while the tip of his cock rubbed against the hose under his armor. He dug his teeth into his lower lip and forced himself to move on, but he had to admit, it rather seemed like he  _ was _ interested in humans after all.

A part of Iorveth had honestly kind of wished that it would just be Roche, that this would be one more weird thing about his enemy that he could shove deep into the back of his mind and ignore.

Instead, he found himself aroused and curious, with an entire brothel at his disposal during his investigation. 

Iorveth passed by the next two rooms when he couldn’t hear much sound from them, but next to the last room on the floor, he could make out the sounds of a man babbling and begging in a low voice. Something in his stomach jumped and he pressed his eye to the peephole, stifling a gasp when he saw a large woman kneeling on the end of the bed, eyes fixed on her partner as she roughly thrust a toy inside him. She was wearing bright red lingerie that stood out against her dark skin and Iorveth found his eyes tracing the hint of her nipple through the lace. The man was spread out on the bed, his wrists and ankles tied to the edges, and from this angle, Iorveth could see the dusting of hair down a stocky waist. As he watched, the woman shifted her wrist and a trickle of precum dribbled down the man’s cock as he writhed and begged for more. The man’s voice was deep and gravely and without really noticing that he was doing it, Iorveth pretended it was Roche lying there, Roche whose face was hidden just beyond his vantage point, Roche who was moaning and whimpering and whispering over and over again, “please.”

Iorveth shuddered, his breath coming in fast pants that echoed in his ears. Roche, tied up and begging as the only touch he got was the toy milking him – the idea stuck in Iorveth’s mind until he was leaning his forehead against the wall, fingernails digging into his palms from the effort of keeping his hands at his sides.

“Oh!” Someone gasped far too close to him  _ not _ to be in the secret passage and he whirled around wildly, fists at the ready. “Fuck, Iorveth, you scared the shit out of me!” Daffodil hissed, clutching a hand with rings on every finger to her chest.

Iorveth huffed a sigh, flushing in embarrassment. “Decided to take your advice,” he grunted.

She grinned widely at that. “And? Was I right, or was I  _ right?” _

“You weren’t wrong,” he begrudgingly admitted. 

“Of course I wasn’t. Oh, but it’s actually good you’re here! Your favorite guest just arrived.” Daffodil’s wink was salacious.

Iorveth’s ears felt hot with embarrassment, which didn’t seem to be detracting from his enjoyment of the gasps and moans and pleas he could still hear from the room he’d been spying on.

“My fav – Roche?”

“Mmhm,” she jerked her head and Iorveth found himself following her to the last room on the floor. “Zinnia’s won the draw this time. Want to see what he’s getting up to with your boy?”

“He’s not  _ mine,” _ Iorveth felt the need to insist. Roche  _ wasn’t _ his, didn’t belong to him in any way shape or form, except that no one else was allowed to kill the dh’oine.  _ That _ honor, Iorveth had no problem claiming.

Except lately, instead of cutting off Roche’s hands, he’d been thinking more about what they’d feel like against his skin.

Iorveth swallowed. It didn’t mean anything. Even though he was following Daff over to the other room’s peepholes, it didn’t mean anything. Roche was his  _ enemy.  _ If he knew that Iorveth was watching this, he’d probably be horrified and disgusted.

So why couldn’t Iorveth stop himself from pressing his eye to the peephole and watching with bated breath as Roche crawled up Zinnia’s body, until they were aligned head to dick. Zinnia had a nice dick, as far as Iorveth could tell. It looked very… well, like a human penis. Iorveth’s sample size was rather limited, but he  _ did _ have the passing thought that Roche’s had been nicer. 

From Iorveth’s vantage point, he had a perfect view as Roche licked his lips and opened his mouth around the tip of Zinnia’s cock. He also had a perfect view of the way Roche slowly bobbed his head up and down in increments until his lips closed around the base of the cock, and all Iorveth could see now was the way Roche’s eyes fluttered closed in bliss before the dh’oine pulled off and started all over again.

Iorveth licked dry lips. This was something Roche clearly enjoyed doing, and from the sounds Zinnia was making, he was  _ good _ at it. Fuck, why did Iorveth find that so hot? He  _ shouldn’t  _ – he should not care one wit that Roche clearly had experience sucking cock. He  _ definitely _ shouldn’t be picturing that experience being put to use on himself. 

But gods, imagining the way Roche might explore Iorveth’s cock, so different from his own – Iorveth shuddered and belatedly realized that one of his hands was slowly stroking his dick through his hose. He jerked it away in embarrassment, glancing to the side to see Daffodil smirking at him.

“What, like I’m gonna judge you?” she murmured. “You’re supposed to enjoy yourself in a brothel. Have at it. Or,” she winked, lashes heavy with mascara, “I could always give you a hand.”

Iorveth could feel his ears and face growing hot and he shook his head furiously, hands determinedly tangled behind his back.

Daff shrugged, “you sure? I am a professional, after all.” She waggled her eyebrows and clicked her tongue. “I know what I’m doing.”

“I–” Iorveth gulped, his embarrassment not at all detracting from his arousal. In fact, it was possible he was even harder than before and he really hadn’t needed to know that about himself. He looked back at Roche through the peephole and bit his lip. 

Almost as if Roche knew he was being watched, he pulled off of Zinnia’s cock and lapped around it, glancing up like he was looking at Iorveth. Iorveth’s teeth dug into his lip and he had to consciously stop his hands from touching himself again. Roche moaned loudly as he sank down on the cock again, and Iorveth’s hands shook.

“Fuck, yes, please,” he mumbled and Daffodil smiled at him, patting him on the shoulder.

“You just keep watching, love. I’ll take care of the rest.” She circled around behind him, then wrapped her arms around his hips, brushing ever so lightly over his trapped cock. 

Daff’s body heat was warm against his back and Iorveth shuddered as she slowly traced the waistline of his hose, then finally pulled them down. He watched Roche pull back again and almost choked as Roche opened his eyes again, looking at the wall, at  _ Iorveth,  _ with his tongue extended and a pink cockhead resting against it.

Daffodil ran her fingers over Iorveth’s cock, tracing the ridges that spiraled around it until they grew slick under her touch. Then she closed her hand around him, twisting with each movement. Iorveth’s hips jerked, but she held him in place, fingers a hot brand against his hip. 

Were all humans so  _ hot!? _ Her fingers around him were blazing with heat and so very  _ tight _ and fuck, being touched had never felt like this before.

Roche made a wild noise, and Iorveth’s attention was immediately entirely fixed on him. Roche had pushed himself further down on Zinnia’s cock, and now Iorveth could see the lines of his back, the way muscles played across it just under his skin as his hips rocked the slightest bit against Zinnia’s face. Iorveth found himself entranced by the little dimples at the base of Roche’s spine, right above the curve of his ass. They looked to be the perfect size for Iorveth to press his thumbs into – perhaps with his fingers wrapped low around Roche’s hips, pulling them back against his own. 

As he thought about it, slim fingertips dipped behind his cock and across the lips of his cunt, teasing him. Iorveth’s breath grew faster and faster and he licked his lips as Roche’s hips jerked and the man whined around the cock in his mouth, swallowing in a way that had Zinnia moaning frantically. 

Then Zinnia’s hips bucked against Roche’s face and Roche moved, sliding up off of Zinnia’s cock until only the head remained. Then he opened his mouth, and when Zinnia came, Iorveth could see it across Roche’s tongue, even as Roche pulled further away until the rest of Zinnia’s orgasm painted lines over his face.

Iorveth’s breath caught, hips shuddering. He was fairly certain he’d never seen a more arousing sight in his life and he knew with complete certainty that it would haunt him for the rest of his life. Any time he touched himself in the future, he would remember Roche’s face, marked and owned, mouth open and tongue extended, brows smooth and eyes shut lightly. Iorveth had never imagined that someone could look so  _ content _ to have someone come all over them, but Roche’s face had never been so unlined and at peace.

He was beautiful.

Daff circled a thumb around his clit and suddenly Iorveth was coming, coming with Roche’s face the only thing he could focus on.

“Lovely,” Daff praised him as he came back to himself and Iorveth found himself flushing bright red again. “That’ll be 40 orens.”

Iorveth sputtered, begrudgingly pulling out his coin purse. “Fucking hell, Daff.”

“I told you, I’m a professional,” she chuckled, accepting her pay and stepping away from him to pull her own purse out of her bosom. 

“I – thanks,” Iorveth mumbled, glancing through the peephole to see Roche already dressed, face clean and that stupid hat back on his head. Iorveth frowned at himself. Had he  _ really _ thought that Roche was beautiful?

Daff had said before that Roche wasn’t bad to look at, and that was certainly true. But beautiful? That word was meant for the grand silver towers the Aen Seidhe had once been known for or a field of fresh bluebell blossoms, not a dh’oine engaged in carnal activities. 

Nonetheless, Iorveth found he couldn’t get that image of Roche out of his head, and even now, he could not deny that it was beautiful. 

Fuck, how was he ever supposed to face Roche in battle again?


End file.
